


Heart in Your Hands

by PunchGrunkLove (HunkleJunk), Unclemurdy23



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Backupsmore University (Gravity Falls), F/M, Fluff, Gravity Falls - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smut, Stan Pines - Freeform, Stanford Pines/Reader - Freeform, Swearing, Violence, college ford
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunkleJunk/pseuds/PunchGrunkLove, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unclemurdy23/pseuds/Unclemurdy23
Summary: No matter what life has thrown at him, and where he has gone, his heart will always remain in her hands.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Original Female Character(s), Ford Pines/Reader, Ford Pines/You
Comments: 83
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic.. EVER! Feedback would be most welcome! If you like it, please comment, tell your friends.. if you hate it.. tell your enemies. Thank you!
> 
> I'll try to update weekly.. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also.. huge thank you to UncleMurdy for being my editor and biggest cheerleader!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic.. EVER! Feedback would be most welcome! If you like it, please comment, tell your friends.. if you hate it.. tell your enemies. Thank you!
> 
> I'll try to update weekly.. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also.. huge thank you to UncleMurdy for being my editor and biggest cheerleader!

Ford shifted restlessly in the bed. Moonlight illuminating his old room in the shack. A thick layer of dust and cobwebs covered everything. His old life seemed... forgotten. A tomb. It was his first night back in his own home... In his own dimension. Fords mind was swimming. Drifting through the past 30 years of danger and hopelessness, seething with his anger and resentments towards his brother, a completely new found family to discover or leave alone, according to Stanley. The work to be done to dismantle the portal and defeat Bill once and for all..

He felt the panic rising, tonight, Ford needed an anchor. his hand snaked under his sweater, and pressed firmly on his chest. He could feel the beat of his heart, hard and unforgiving in his hand. the traces of scars under his calloused palm.. His breathing began to regulate. His world focused, and it brought him back to Backupsmore.

\---

Ford was used to being an outcast. In school, always, but now, at Backupsmore, he didn't have Stanley to help him with the bullies. Resentment boiled in him constantly. At least here, he had the consistent praise of his professors, and so Ford resolved to keep his vision on those who did appreciate him. The other students, here because obviously they didn't have the same mixture of gifts and poor fortune as him, were not worth his time. His degrees were the only goal. His professors admiration the only validation needed.

Fall had begun, and as beautiful as the campus became with the changing of leaves, Ford was none the wiser. The air was cool and crisp. The crowds were more jovial and lively with holiday celebrations. He exited Quantum Mechanics and began to make his way towards his next class.. his books clutched tightly against the thick cable knit rust colored sweater vest for warmth.

"Where do you think you're going, FREAK?'

The voice high pitched for a male yell, but that didn't keep it from being completely menacing and utterly unmistakable. Danny Bartlett. It was Backupsmores equivalent to Crampelter, except somehow popular. For some reason, Ford kept getting paired with him on group projects, he wasn't sure if this was due to Professors wanting to help Danny's grades, or just proof of an unforgiving and comedic god.

"I know you told Professor Johnson I didn't do any work on that last assignment. You think you're better than me? HUH?!"

Danny and his friends stomped towards him threateningly. Fords large horn-rim glasses slipped down the rim of his nose a bit. Thus far the isolation had, if he was honest with himself, been rough on him, and the teasing, he was used to, but he had been expecting more from University. So far he had been happy that no one had touched him yet.. at least not violently... Today was the day though. It was all going to begin again. Ford wasn't even afraid at this point..His round eyes shut slightly in dejection; He was just.. disappointed.

Then with a graceful slide of knee high chocolate leather boots and a whip of a soft woolen camel long coat... everything changed.

Someone stood between Ford and his soon to be attackers.

"Everyone knows he's better than you Bartlett! Just like how everyone knows you don't do work on group assignments, so back off!'

This was different.. the voice, fierce, but feminine, and one he never noticed before.. She now stood, straight and tall, in between Ford and Danny. Even though he couldn't make out much.. the hood on her fitted winter coat up.. obscuring her features.. at that moment.. this woman, was the most stunning thing he had ever seen. Fords eyes shot up wide with wonder, as he juggled his book to slide his glasses back up his nose. His unruly mop of curly brown hair dusting his forehead threatening to still obscure his vision of what he was sure, was a miracle in process.

"Listen, ________, if you know what's good for you, you'll get the FUCK out of here! This is none of your business" Danny growled.

She laughed in return.

"If you know what's good for YOU, Bartlett, you will get outta here and leave him alone."

Ford was intimidated by her forwardness and fearlessness, His tall stature hidden behind hers, feeling the energy of her fierceness and believed genuinely, that Danny would as well obviously, and have no choice to back down until..

SMACK!

Danny backhanded ________ hard. Her hood flew off her head, revealing a thick mass of dark wavy tendrils that scented the air with unmistakable hints of honey and jasmine. It only took the moment that her head had reeled from the strike to recover and almost in a blur, a fist was swung, a howl echoed down the hall, and blood sputtered from Danny's nose.

He gasped and grabbed at his now, assuredly broken nose, and she fluidly moved towards him and grabbed him by the collar.

"Like I said.. Get out of here and Leave him alone, unless you want the whole school to know you got your ass handed to you by a girl!" She practically spit at the terrified douche bag.

His friends, who had been shockingly inactive, just taking in the scene first not believing that their friend would strike a woman, or then that she would be able to break his nose, chuckled in the background.

"THIS ISNNN OVER BISSSH! Danny called through his hands as he stormed off, trying to be as threatening as one can while retreating and cupping their bleeding face in both hands. His friends followed suit giving amused looks to the entire situation.

Once they were out of sight, she touched her face tenderly where she was hit with her tapered delicate fingers with long manicured nails, and finally turned to Ford.

"I'm sorry that happened." the storm inside her was all but gone, and her face and voice had become gentle and calm.

"I'm ________. I've gotten paired with Bartlett too.. He's a pain in the ass." Her smile was lopsided and genuine, eyes gleaming..

Ford stared dumbly. Scanning his memories of classes for recognition of her and coming up blank. For once regretting his ability to tune out his surroundings for pursuit of higher knowledge. His brows knit in frustration and cheeks reddened in embarrassment. He quickly hid his hands under his books, clutched even tighter to his chest to try to keep his anxiety from bursting through. Interactions with people were always difficult. Women, nearly impossible.. and this situation. He should know who she is, what to say, what if she sees his hands, will she just turn on him, and act like Danny did? Could he just play dead? It worked for possums. He missed Shanklin.

Ford, lost in his own mind.. waited too long to respond.

"okay. well.. I guess I'll see you in class." Her smiled dropped. She looked hurt as she walked away.

He noticed for the first time the fall leaves changing colors, because their beautiful tones in the window behind her complimented her rich mahogany hair and the light breaking through the clouds seemed to light the soft waves on fire with a reddish brown shine.

She was incredible.

He was a failure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and the supportive comments. Thanks also to UncleMurdy for all the help! SHE MY ROCK!

For the next week, Ford became increasingly aware of his other classmates, and discovered that he had three classes with ________. She was quiet. Sat in the back. usually with her hood up. His own studies began to falter as he noticed her concentration and meticulous note taking. her expressions would change from serious, to occasionally excited, when this would happen, additional notes would always be scribbled quickly in the sidebar. She smiled at him, whenever they locked eyes, but she never approached or said anything. It felt like a lightning bolt through his entire body each time this happened. Ford always attempted to return the smile, but never quite knew the success rate, with having a full bodily fluster.. leaving him stiffened, stupid, and beet red.  
  


Saturday finally came and he found himself playing quite a bit of catch up in the Backupsmores library. The only impressive part of Backupsmore, in his opinion. Going through the aisles of books to get what he needs, frustration mounted as he noted again and again that the books he searched for were already absconded with. Something that rarely happened at a University with such mediocre and unmotivated students. Still, he took what he could and moved to a table that was full of books stacked and waiting to be put away. He could search through those later for his missing titles.

Even reading and taking notes were hard for him right now. He wrote, " _The Quest to unify the fundamental forces through Quantum Mechanics is ongoing,"_ in beautiful scrawling cursive, but his mind wandered, and he wondered what ________ 's notes looked like, what her handwriting looked like. what her major was. Does she like tea or coffee? What does she always write so excitedly in the margins? Why is she at Backupsmore? Goosebumps begin making their way up his neck as he shook his floof of curly hair to refocus his mind. Almost knocking his glasses off his face. Fixing them quickly getting back to the task at hand, " _Quantum Electromagnetism,"_ he began writing again, _" which is at least in the perturbative regime, the most accurately tested physical theory of our time, has been merged with the weak nuclear force into the electroweak force"_ Why does she smile at me? I made such a bad impression, didn't I? Is she making fun of me? Could she like me? How do I talk to her?

"Uggghhhh" His groan of frustration was much louder than intended. He dragged a thick 6 fingered hand down his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble and all the way to his jutting Adams apple. He shot his head up to see if he had further embarrassed himself, but luckily the library on a Saturday was one of the quietest places on campus.

Miserably he went back to his books. The next hour came and went; and though he still struggled the same, Ford somehow got through the few books he was able to find. Wearily lifting his long slight frame from the chair, he leaned over to the stack of books ready for return. To his surprise though most of his titles were sitting right there! Even one he did not know the library stocked on the legend of Mothman. He would have to check this one out for reading at the dorm. He eagerly reached for it when a long delicate hand firmly stopped his.

"Back off Pal.. those are my books" came the calm, firm, but beautiful voice.. He realized then that it wasn't a pile to be returned, but of all people, she had been sitting across from him the entire time, in a fort of books to study. He leaned over and caught glance of her for the first time. Her hood down, hair tucked behind her ears, eyes studying her paper. Her hand withdrew, and as she finished her writing, she slowly looked up. Huge almond eyes, the most honeyed shade of brown that seemed to take in the light and keep it as its own. A pleasant light of recognition hits her eyes first, then, the warm smile, the kind that turns him into a pathetic heap.

"Stanford! I'm sorry, I didn't notice it was you!" Her voice was pleasant. "If you would like to use these books, you can always study with me?" She asked gently.

\----

Back in the shack.. In bed.. 30 years later...

Ford reminisces..over all his battles, the courage he was forced to find and all the life or death scenarios he had faced.. Saying something, Anything to ________, especially something not entirely moronic... will probably always be in his top 5 of courageous acts.

\----

"b-b-but of course, that is, if y-you don't mind" was what Ford was able to get out. An amazing feat since he could feel himself blushing bright red from the tips of his ears all the way to his chest. She had touched his hands. Did she realize? Was she ok with it? She wanted to study with him? Could he sit by her? or what does that mean?

Suddenly she stood up. This was it.. Ford almost let out another groan. He had done something stupid.. His round chestnut eyes went wide in panic. She had seen his hands. She was leaving.

Instead, she began reorganizing her books.

"Here, this is the pile I'm finished with, you are welcome to these, and I'll keep adding to it, if it helps." It was an impressively large pile. Ford found himself wondering how long she had been there, and how often she comes to the library.

She placed the pile in a seat two from her, it seemed an invitation to sit closer, so Ford, bashfully moved his things, and renewed his studies.

Once they both resumed a comfortably silent pace of concentrated studies Ford began to relax The books piles became an actual pile for returns, as both had gone through most in the course of several hours. Even in silence Studying next to her was a joy. He felt calm and focused. A small smile crept across his face. Content just to be near her. To look up every once in a while to see her face screwed in concentration or victory over a difficult equation.. He eventually even became brave enough to look at her notes. The handwriting, not swirling or cursive like his, was a uniform blocky print. Perhaps not beautiful but impressive and tidy all the same. The notes in the margins though.. He rarely understood. Luckily for Ford, his curiosity will usually win out over fear and awkwardness every time.

"What do the notes in your margins refer to?" He asked breaking the long silence. She shot up embarrassed.

"It's nothing really.. it's just for some personal theories I have.. they have little to do with the class itself" Her cheeks were now dusted with pink and she shyly looked away.

"I'd love to hear them!" Ford said excitedly, not realizing immediately the embarrassment he had caused, just noticing that she had somehow become softer and more radiant and he needed to know more.

"umm.. well.. you see... I like studying," ________ sighs, and the hair from her ear fell, effectively creating a curtain between Ford and herself. As excited as he was for her to continue, he wanted more than anything, to touch her hair, to put it back behind her ear, to be able to see her face clearly once more.

"I like studying cryptozoology," She continued, "and most of the side theories from my classes pertain to that. I know that most people don't see it as an actual science though, but I feel that's because of the lack of actual scientists in the field to research and catalogue properly"

He gasped in amazement, eyes widened and mouth agape in astonishment, and she looked up at Ford sadly, and that's when the entire interaction hit. The sad eyes of hers he knew too well. SHE was waiting for HIM to judge. For HIM to mock, maybe even for HIM to leave.

"No No No! ________! I study cryptozoology as well! That's why I was interested in your Mothman book. He is my favorite cryptid of all!.. in fact when I was a kid, my brother and I even caught the New Jersey Devil!... but we had to let him go, but still!"

________ laughed. It wasn't mocking, but gentle, and sweet. Her eyes relaxed and face softened.

The rest of the time at the library went by in a haze of exchange of theories and ideas of cryptids. Each person having a unique take on the science, complimentary but opposing to the others. Before Ford knew it, the library was asking for final books to be checked out before closing. ________ gathered her notes into her oversized army sack, and quickly went through the book pile to find a book.

Smiling warmly, She handed the book to Ford. "Here, I've read it before, you should read it." It was the copy of, "The Mothman Lives." The book he had been so eagerly eyeing before.

They both gathered their things and checked out their books, once outside, the comfortable silence became distressing to Ford. He didn't want to say goodbye, didn't want the night to end. But how can he explain, that he doesn't know what to do, or where to go? he just needs to be by her side.

Instead of caving into that growing desire to be near her, Ford said a formal farewell and walked towards his dorm. His new book warm in his hand, he pondered over everything he learned about ________, and thought of all the things yet to discover. She was an anomaly within herself. A singular person, that he was sure he would never meet the likes of again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on smut. If it isn't your thing, feel free to skip it as it isn't imperative to the plot. Also.. this may be a short chapter, but the chapters get much longer from here on out! As always, UncleMurdy has been so helpful in getting this work out here and I thank her so much! Thank you all for reading. Your kudos and comments mean everything to me! I have so much in store for you and I cannot wait to share the next chapter with you!!

Back at the dorm, Ford lay in his bed thinking of ________. His glasses sit on the chair that served as a makeshift bedside table. "The Mothman Lives" barely begun, resting on the pillow next to him. The day replayed in a rush. He never believed much in fate, but to think that he could have been sitting across from her, of all people. To think about how smart she was. That she of all people would share in his interests. He took in a deep breath trying to recapture her scent.

Ford was washed over with sensations of her. The sight of her. Her smell, her voice; not specific words, but the melodic symphony of its gentle tones, like tiny metallic wind chimes on a soft breeze, played in his ears. Her every movement and expression, a dance between grace and comedic over exaggeration. Her very essence was sharply facetted and it made her all the more alluring. How could she be so fierce a wild, and a moment later, gentle and sweet. Why was someone as smart as her at Backupsmore, and most importantly why was someone so beautiful also so kind to him? What made her go out of her way to protect him? To let him study with her?

He thought about the scenario in the library, his mind wandering to the briefest contact of her soft hand on his. The back of his hand still tingled with the honor of her touch. Her fingertips were soft, and cool. Her long nails gently making themselves known on his shocked flesh. He wondered how her touch would feel elsewhere. Those nails raking through his brown hair, gently touching his wide stubbled face, his masculine neck. Maybe even his...

His hands pantomimed each movement in time; threading his fingers through his thick coarse curls. His hands barely tracing over his rough cheek and skimming his well-defined jaw line. Letting them glide down his strong, thick neck to his jutting collarbone, and then moving down slowly and cupping his large growing bulge through his pants. He shuddered. His teeth scraping across his full lower lip; thinking of how she would make him feel. Her soft wavy hair brushing across his skin. Looking down into her eyes, so big and full of expression. Could there ever be love there? Her plump dusty rose lips kissing him. Her long fingers caressing him.

This was probably a mistake. This was too much.

Stanford Pines, you are getting your hopes up, he thought to himself. There is no reason to indulge in such flights of fantasy, He scolded.

But it was ________, and he couldn't help himself. She was intoxicating. Everything about her was mesmerizing to him. If he couldn't be with her, he could at least give himself this.

He allowed himself to free his girth from the confines of his pants and began stroking it softly with his six fingers.. Would she touch him gently like this? Would her ferocity show through to give her a firmer grip? She is so caring; she would probably experiment to find what he liked best. Something that, from lack of experience, he himself wasn't quite sure of. He knew though, that with her, he would love it all. Ford let out strained mewling whimpers as he pumped himself slowly and let his racing mind slip further into thoughts of her. Kissing her, seeing her naked, what her body must look like, what her creamy skin must feel like. He was inexperienced, yes, but he would try to make her feel good. Could he do it? Would she show him how? How would she react, and what faces would she make when he did well? What sounds would come out of her? Would she let him touch her freely, her breasts, explore between her legs? perhaps even taste her?

Ford threw his head back and groaned loudly as his grip tightened and picked up speed, imagining the thought of how sweet she must taste. He thought of the taste of honey. Honey; the color of her eyes. The sweet undertone of her scent. His broad tongue darted out and grazed his upper lip. Wishing to taste her essence there. He dared to think about her lips, her tongue on his mouth and his body. He bit his lower lip, envisioning her sensual ample lips over his cock, and then, his hips began to buck, as he imagined his first time with her. How it could possibly feel to fill her up entirely Her sweet gentle guidance. Her passionate energy. Her vivacious beauty.. She would be everything. She would be more then he could ever ask for.

It was all too much for Ford, as those last thoughts ultimately put him over the edge. He thrust erratically into himself as thick spurts of cum dripped down his cock and over his hand. He cannot remember making himself cum this hard before. He was left; eyes wide, every muscle seemingly taxed. As messy as it was, Ford could find the strength to do nothing but lay in bed, breathless, and contemplate what could never be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with this story! and Thank you UncleMurdy for all of your help and support!

Classes were different. He had ________ now. It was like a whole new school. She always greeted him before class with an exaggerated wave and her infectious lopsided smile. Her hair an untamed mess of shining perfection, with her oversized green army bag always slung over one shoulder. After class, they met outside and talked about the days lecture. Her mind was incredible, and could keep up with Ford easily in conversation.

On group assignments, they now requested each other, which made for easy projects. For once, neither were just carrying their partner but finally working and sharing in the tasks as equals. Working together was incredible. Studying in the library or meeting in coffee shops. The tinkling sound of her laughter echoing in his ears. The fun casual way she joked and teased him. He had become so relaxed around her. The very projects, taken on by two such capable students, rarely took much time themselves. Still, so full were their sessions with talks of cryptids and life; plans and dreams, that the same amount of time was usually allotted anyways. Ford would return to his dorm after these meetings with rosy cheeks and a full heart, with a smile he couldn't seem to wipe from his face. Ford loved these days. 

The holidays were fast approaching, and Ford had decided that a gift may be appropriate to show his growing affection for ________. He had spotted a beautiful jeweled hair clip at a surprisingly reasonable price. The jewels were all the colors of the changing autumn leaves. It reminded him so much of the first day he met her, and how the Fall colors seemed to brighten her hair and how and the autumn sun lit it ablaze with red light. He knew it was perfect for her. Bought and carefully wrapped in the most beautiful paper he could find, Ford decided to head to the other side of campus to surprise her as she got out of Cultural Anthropology, a class they did not share, but she insisted, "was important for cryptid research". As he neared her class, he began to hear yelling in the distance. A familiar voice that made his blood go cold; Danny Bartlett.

"Freak Lover Bitch!"

Followed by a yelp of pain that could only be ________.

Ford broke into a run, and found ________ crouched on the ground, head lowered. Danny and his goons, laughing as they walked away. A hand covered her eye and forehead, but the blood could still be seen trickling down and matting her hair to her face.. She didn't look pained, just...intensely sad. Ford could relate to that look. It was the expression of someone who had taken one too many hits, and couldn't bother loosing it anymore. It was heartrending to see her look like that. He wished she was crying or scared, because at least that would mean she wasn't used to it like he was.

" ________! are you ok?? Please let me see!" Ford knelt down by her, and she looked up dumbly and despondently at him.

"Hi Ford.. " She tried a weak, fake smile, "what are you doing around here? I'm okay.. really... Bartlett and Co. are too scared to actually fight me, but they threw a book at my head. I guess his aim is the one thing he's actually got going for himself... " she said with a mirthless chuckle.

Drops of blood slowly dropped from her jaw line to the floor as she pointed with one bloodied, but delicate finger to a large hardback library book several feet away.

Ford gently removed her hand, sticky with drying blood. There was a small knot on her forehead, right above the eyebrow, with a cut in it that was causing the heavy bleeding. There was a painful pit in his chest at the sight of it. It was like the wind had been knocked out of him. He was angry, but for once in his life, his anger and resentments were overshadowed by something else, heartbreak. He had all the time in the world to be mad at Danny Bartlett. Right now, he needed to take care of ________.

"Let's get you up ________, The dorms are close, you can come to mine and get cleaned up. I have some bandages to stop the bleeding. I don't think you will be needing stitches." Ford said, and he gently took the bloodstained hand and lifted her to her feet.

She got up shakily, and went to grab her bag. The sight of her, with blood matted hair still stuck to her face seemed more than he could bare. Droplets scattered the floor around where she had just been.

She looked at his forlorn features, and cocked her head slightly, brushing the offending hair from her face. "Ford, you sly dog." ________ teased quietly, " Is this how you get all your women to your room?". The lopsided smile was weak, but it was back and genuine.

Ford, flustered and blushing as he was, would love to say that he gave a witty retort at that, or at least a dignified explanation. but the sounds that came out of his mouth, were hardly considered human, most definitely not English..., and therefore, could not be qualified as either.

________ laughed gently and bumped into him playfully. "Thank you Ford," She said softly.

The walk back was quiet, but quick.

As soon as they reached the door, Ford realized that she had never been to his dorm and frankly that it was a mess..., that she would see his bed, his dirty laundry.. maybe even.. his underwear! He began to panic, but looked over at her bleeding face, and quickly opened the door to lead her in. His anxieties could wait. She was all that mattered.

He led her to the kitchenette, where he began to wet a rag when she stopped him.

She looked down nervously, and pointed to the bathroom... "Actually, is there anyway, I can just use your shower to clean up? I'm kinda... covered in blood...? Her eyes darted away ashamedly.

"Oh!" Ford exclaimed.. "Of course, please, go right ahead., Do you need any clean clothes?

"No. umm.. I've ahh... got some. Thanks." She muttered as she made her way to the bathroom with her oversized-army bag. Ford tried to dissect what seemed off about the encounter but couldn't make heads or tails of it. He chalked it up to an overwhelming and uncomfortable situation.

A half an hour later, time, thankfully used to tidy up and hide dirty clothes, ________ Exited the bathroom, indeed, in new clothes, hair wet and shimmering, more curly than wavy, and bleeding above the eyebrow all but stopped, although the goose egg, looking purple and garish on her beautiful forehead.

"Where do you want to do this, on the bed?" She asked timidly.

Ford faltered, "wh-what?"

"umm.. you said you had a bandage for my head? Is it easiest to do it on your bed? I know the space is a bit crowded." ________explained.

"Oh! yes.. of course.. yes.. yes.. that would actually be easiest.. please make yourself comfortable, I will go and get it" Ford almost yelped.. while running into the bathroom to get his first aid kit, and silently scream at the growing bulge in his pants to stay down and stay hidden.

When he returned ________ was sitting cross legged in his bed, comforters all around her. She smiled. Peacefully at last. "This bed is so comfortable! I could sleep foreeeevver in a bed like this!" It was a strange thing to say about a dorm mattress he thought to himself...

He began to put a bandage over the cut. Being careful to not put too much pressure on the swelling and bruising... Ford expected ________ to wince or withdraw, something to express her discomfort, Yet her body remained passive and expression flat. When it was done, she smiled sweetly and thanked him.

Her arms raised over her head in a stretch, pushing her breasts to limit of her shirt. Her nipples, hardened from the cold, jutted out. Ford blushed and shot his eyes to her face to avert his gaze, as she yawned largely and innocently.

She let out a weary sigh. "Maybe I should get out of your hair now, huh?" she asked

"I-I have some studying to do, if you would like to rest for a while. Seems like you could use it. You may not want to drive home like this right now. " Ford replied, honestly, just not wanting to see her go..

________ eyes were gleaming saucers full of hopefulness. "Really? Are you sure that's ok?" She asked happily.

"He smiled down at her, her joy radiating onto him, leaving him wanting to touch her face, resisting the urge to kiss her.

"Of course ________" is all he could get out, before he withdrew himself from the bed and to the small desk across the room to pacify the growing temptation to hold her.

She quickly buried herself in his blankets and sleep followed almost immediately. He smiled thinking about her warm honey jasmine scent, and hoping that his bed would be left smelling as sweetly as her. He tried to study, but such a task was impossible with a goddess laying mere feet away. Smiling softly, looking so serene and peaceful. It was all his dreams come true, except one. He wished he could be there with her. He wished he could embrace her. Be the reason for her to smile in her sleep.

As he thought about her, his head grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep at his desk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Uncle Murdy! She is a trooper! Thank you guys for reading.. I hope you are enjoying it.

Fingers ran through Fords hair. This was a dream, it had to be.. The darkness of the dorm was coming into focus, but the sensation remained.. also, a hushed whisper...

"Ford... Ford... please wake up!"

" ________?"

"What time is the curfew for girls in the men's dorm?" she asked sounding frightened.

"It's 9, why?" Ford said, still groggy but waking up quickly with the alarmed sound of her voice.

"I'm so sorry Ford. Please don't be mad at me. I overslept. Its 10:30. I don't want to get you in trouble. I'm sorry" She was pleading. Her hand long removed from his hair;, they were now clasped in front of her nervously.

"It's okay ________, I'm not mad. Did you want to leave, or did you want to just spend the night and leave in the morning? You can take the bed, and I'll take the floor?" Ford tried to sound as reassuring as possible, even though he was still quite bleary with sleep. He couldn't understand why she would be so alarmed and what kind of a reaction she was expecting from him. All he knew was that she seemed legitimately panicked. It filled him with sadness.

He took her hands before he even realized what he was doing, and put them in his. Softly stroking his thumb over the backs of them. He looked up at her gently.

"I guess if I stay the night, you won't get in trouble. I can sneak out in the morning... Bu- BUT! I don't want you to sleep on the floor! I can!" She protested as panic rose inside her again.

"That's silly." Ford stifled a yawn before continuing, "You already got injured today, sleeping on a floor won't help you any.. I won't hear of it... "

________ Looked down at Fords hands wrapped around her own, in thought for a moment. This moment seemed forever to Ford who had just then realized how forward he had been. Also, that she had been staring at his hands.

"Ford?" She asked meekly, she paused and swallowed thickly before continuing "I don't want you sleeping on the floor. Would you mind...well... maybe sharing the bed?"

Ford stiffened.. Was this a heart attack? This was probably a heart attack. He was having a heart attack and would never get to be in the same bed as his dream girl because he would be dead of a heart attack before he could walk six feet to the bed.

Ok, maybe not a heart attack.. Which meant a response was needed.. that seems worse.. Was a heart attack still an option? How do you say... "yes, I've been jacking off and dreaming of this moment since I met you... Also, I may love you?" without sounding like a creep?

"Okay" was all Ford could squeak out, which under the circumstances and his level of panic, he had to congratulate himself on an excellent choice of word.

"Why don't you get into pajamas then, and come join me"? She commanded bashfully, pulling him away from the desk with their hands still joined.

Ford quickly changed in the bathroom, and came back out to find her already in bed and under the covers towards the wall, but not asleep. He had never slept next to a girl before... He was already hard, and lucky that the room was dark. As much as he had fallen for her, he didn't want to do anything to offend her and loose her even as a friend. He had to be a gentleman. He was resolved to keep every urge he had under control.

He slid under the covers and mumbled a quick goodnight before turning to face his back towards her and at least pretend that sleep would come. He couldn't risk even accidentally holding her in her sleep or worse.. have her feel the hardness that already pressed through his soft flannel pants. 

and then it happened.

He felt a rustling under the blankets. A delicate arm wrapped around him, and snaked up under his Backupsmore sweater. nails combed up his soft, but firm stomach and through his chest hair. Tenderly, her palm landed over his ferociously beating heart. Her head nuzzled into the nape of his neck, tendrils of silky intoxicating hair, tickling and caressing him, as the rest of her body fit to the back of him perfectly. Her warmth radiating through him.

In a soft, tender whisper ________ asks, "Is this ok?"

Ford was happy that she could not see him in the dark. Mouth agape. a single tear rolled down his cheek. He had never felt something so... soft and beautiful.

A breathy "yeah..." was all he could manage. He put his own hand on top of hers resting over his heart. For seemingly the first time in his life, the incessant questions in his mind stopped. The worries. The anger. Everything was gone, it was serene. He was just with "her".

He willed himself to stay awake all night, to appreciate every second of this bliss.

The thing about being warm, and comfortable, free or worries, and under a blanket on a cold winter night though, is that it puts you to sleep pretty quickly... No matter what your resolve. Before Ford knew it, it was morning. He was still intertwined with ________their hands somehow still together over his heart. He was happy. He was safe. He was sure, for the first time, that he was indeed, in love, and he had no intention of moving any time soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas guys.. doing this update a few days early, because the holidays can be hard on everyone so I figure it might be nice for a distraction for those who need it.. Thanks to Uncle Murdy as always..

30 years later, and Ford still uses that moment in time to calm himself down. To drown out the thoughts. Her hand on his heart. The smell of honey and jasmine enveloping him. Her sweet voice making sure he was ok. The heat from her body. Even when dimension hopping.. it never failed to give him a small sense of peace. Although it always left him wondering. What would have happened if she stayed? Would things have been different? Would he have become a different man, or is he, himself, inevitable, and would he have only dragged her into his mess with him? Would he ever see her again? Could he ever be the man she deserved? Would she even still want him? His scars seemed to raise more prominent under his hand at this last thought. His body and mind ruined and still so much to be done. Perhaps memories are all he can hope for.

His hand grasped desperately over his heart, wishing for the delicate one underneath. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut tightly.

\----

Back in bed, he gripped ________’s hand tightly, wondering what the morning would bring. Would she wake up like nothing happened or could this be the beginning of something new? If she didn't take that first step, did he have the courage to? Right now, he didn't even have the courage to turn around to hold her, as much as he wanted to. As much as he wanted to see her sleeping face, and run his fingers through her hair.

Behind him, she began to move, nestling closer to his neck... Nose rubbing goose bumps into the tender flesh, while her legs stretched outwards. She was waking. He froze. All thoughts of courage went out the window with the tiniest of moans she let out in his ear, as her back arched and her stretches completed. Her body relaxed back into him. Ford could feel her long dark lashes flutter against him as she roused herself. She lifted her head gingerly, and softly, barely, brushed her lips against the side of his neck almost to the underside of his jawbone. It was the sweetest whisper of a kiss. He froze, as he wondered if perhaps, she thought him still asleep. It was best then, he decided, to let her believe he was asleep, to save from any regret or embarrassment. Until that is, he felt her arm recoil back, and her body carefully move away from him. She was leaving, slowly, cautious not to wake him. His heart leapt.

"Stay" was the whispered plea he managed.

She had already gotten into the sitting position and was making her way to crawl over him to exit the bed.

"I'm sorry Ford, did I wake you?" ________ asked softly.

He rolled over and looked up at her. She was, an absolute mess. The most stunning mess he had ever seen. The knot in her forehead had gone down, but the bruising had spread. Her hair, her usually shiny tamed waves, looked like a sea monsters tendril's, dull and snaking every which way but down. Her soft expression, her beautiful body, the way she seemed at home inside herself. It made her a piece of art.

He smiled softly at her. "No, I was just waking up myself."

"Oh" she replied, cheeks reddening at the thought of him catching her in the act of a perhaps unrequited goodbye kiss.

Seeing her blush, Ford jumped to change the subject, "I can make some coffee if you would like, if you can stay, and-and..." he paused thinking of an excuse to spend more time with her, until the obvious one came into view across the room, "and there is still the matter of why I came to see you yesterday. " He finished with a devilish grin.

________ clapped her hands together excitedly. "Coffee!" She exclaimed. Her eyes lit up like a child on Christmas. "I would... well... if it's not too much trouble?"

Ford chuckled to himself, as her mirth was the only real reason that could get him to leave his bed that morning. He began to brew a pot as she also left the bed and knelt down by her bag and begun to search through its contents. Finally finding her bounty with a triumphant "AHA!" She retrieved a worn looking brush and began to painstakingly bring her hair back to life.

"I have to ask you," Ford began somewhat quizzically, "Why do you keep all that in your schoolbag?"

"It's in case I get hit in the head by a book and a handsome boy rescues me, of course!" She teased, with a comically mock-seductive look, avoiding answering the question all together.

Ford did not let being called "handsome" slip by unnoticed. His face reddened and his hands trembled as he poured two cups of coffee, managing to only spill a good half cup on the counter in the process.

"Let me ask you," She started thoughtfully, luckily not noticing the kitchen disaster behind her. "What were you doing by my classes yesterday. You don't have any classes on that side of campus?"

Counters clean, Ford made his way to her with a cup in each hand, smiling fondly. "Easy, I was looking for you, my dear."

In mid coffee-hand off, he almost dropped the cup, as his own use of the endearment hit his ears. At the words "my dear" both their eyes shot up at each other, and they smiled timidly. ________ face as red as his own.

"Well..well.. you see... " Ford stumbled, his easy confidence lost, "I got you a little something." His face still red and burning, " It's not much, and if you don't want it, it's fine, but I just wanted to give this to you.." He trailed off as he picked the small box off the counter where he had left it the night prior. Impeccably wrapped in gold paper, with a dainty silver ribbon. He nervously went to hand it to her, not knowing what to expect and certainly not expecting what he saw.

Large tears welled in her eyes. Her mouth agape in surprise. "You got me a gift?" She asked, her voice saccharine and stunned.

He quickly moved to sit by her side, and gently handed her the box. She held it in her hands the way one would a baby bird. It seemed as if she regarded the gift itself, too precious to open. She stared thoughtfully at it in her hands, tears never falling from her eyes, but never receding either.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked up at him tenderly. "Thank you..." she said, her voice slightly above a whisper, full of passion and earnest.

"Open it, please." Ford encouraged.

Her delicate fingers untied the ribbon carefully, and made sure to not rip the beautiful wrapping paper. It was all folded neatly and set aside, as if this presentation was as important as whatever could have been inside. She opened the box slowly. The autumn-colored jewels danced in the morning lights.

Tears, now fell freely. She didn't cry. They just fell silently down her cheeks.

Fords reached over and smoothed her soft face with his hand. He picked the hair clip up, out of the box, and tenderly put it in her hair. It was perfect. It shone in her hair, and seemed to make her now-tamed hair shine in response.

He cupped her face in his hand and looked deep into her needy eyes. "It's the only thing I could find that could compliment something as beautiful as you." He said sweetly.

She looked almost helpless in his hand for just a moment, before in a flurry her arms were flung around his neck, clutching fistfuls of his Backupsmore sweater with desperation. Her head burrowed into the crook of his neck, as she softly wept, "Thank you" over and over again.

His body was rigid for only a moment, before he wrapped his strong thick arms around her warmth and brought her closer. Tenderly rubbing comforting circles into her back, taking in the smell of her, the feeling of her chest pressed against him.

She fell silent, except the sounds of her heavy breathing. Her forehead now nestled under Fords strong chin. He ran his fingers through her soft waves, gently. They stayed like that for a while. Ford feeling her shapely frame in his arms, and taking in her intoxicating scent.

\--------

Ford can't remember if the coffee was ever drunk. When the embrace ended. He knows she left soon after, but he can't remember seeing her go.

So _seared_ into his mind was the sensation of holding her at last. His heart against hers. The beautiful fall colors dancing in her hair. That moment would last forever in his mind.

His eyes finally heavy, his heartbeat softened under his hand, he slipped into a peaceful slumber at last.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for sticking with me.. Next chapter shit starts to get intense! 
> 
> HOWEVER!
> 
> Fair Warning.. our beloved angel, UncleMurdy, whose wise edits make this story great, is experiencing a family emergency right now. We are unsure of how that will affect updates, but most likely they will not be on time for the next few weeks. 
> 
> Give her love and encouragement because she deserves both!
> 
> Because you deserve content, I will be trying my best to be putting out some one-shots (not edited by anyone.. lord help us all) in the meantime!

No matter what measures Ford took to try to fall asleep during the past 30 years, when sleep did come, his dreams were always wrought with peril. Mostly dreams of Bill or the dangers awaiting him in that current dimension.

Tonight, perhaps it was the comfort of his home and the relative safety of his own dimension; tonight was different. It was the first peaceful dream in _decades_. So of course, she would find her way to him.

\------

January at Backupsmore was covered in heavy rain, falling in sheets constantly. It was no wonder Ford had gotten sick. As much as he hated to miss class, he could barely will himself to roll over in bed. His fever made him cold and shivering, but his eyes felt like they were boiling in their sockets, as he sweat through his warmest winter pajamas. His throat was sore, and his sinuses seemed to have a vise-like grip on his brain. He drifted in and out of sleep, spending his foggy waking hours kicking himself for missing what were, obviously going to be the most important lectures of the year, based on his absence alone.

The hail began at the window rather rhythmically, then louder... Oh wait. It wasn't hail at all. It was knocking. Ford used his sore muscles to pull the heavy sheets over his head to ignore the noise with a loud groan. The knocking finally stopped. Then a soft voice pierced his plush fortress.

"Ford? Are you okay?" ________ voice was at the other side.

It was the only voice he wouldn't ignore and the only reason he could get out of bed feeling like he did. He sat up and raked a hand through his sweat soaked hair. His hair remained in place where his fingers had guided it, but he was too sick to notice. He stumbled his way out of bed, although every muscle protested, to unlock the door for her.

She stood there soaked through and holding bags of groceries, her face drooped in concern. She let herself in, passing him quickly to drop her parcels and swiftly put a hand to his head. Her hands were ice cold, and it was a soothing relief to Ford.

"Oh Ford!" She exclaimed. "Your fever is so high! I knew you had to be sick if you missed class today. Let's get you back to bed. " She took him by the hands and guided him to his bed, tucking him back into his blankets. It reminded him of sick days back home with his mother. ________ would probably make a great mother he thought. He looked lovingly at her.

"I brought your notes from class. Not much happened, but I know you will rest better if you had them." She explained. He was touched at how well she understood him.

"I'm also making you soup, then I will leave you to rest." She said more matter-of- factly.

Ford began to protest, but was quickly cut off. "I'll have you know, that MY homemade chicken soup can cure any illness!" She boasted proudly, "But if you want to lay in bed for another week, well, that will be your choice, Mister.."

Her determined and devilish grin showing that despite her words, he indeed, had no choice.

He chuckled weakly as his eyes began to grow heavy again.

When Ford awoke the aroma of the mirepoix hit his strong, aquiline nose. It was the lusciously saccharine smell of sweet onions, carrots and celery mixed with the succulent rich smell of butter. She began to mince garlic and the notes blended beautifully in the air. His appetite had been all but lost since the first sign of illness, but immediately returned, once the garlic and chicken hit the pan to sear.

An hour later, hot soup was presented to him. He was salivating. The rich aroma had been driving him mad. It was thick with shredded chicken and vegetables amongst a sweet savory stock. The garlic was strong, and there was just enough cayenne to help his sinuses without tipping the delicate balance of the flavorful soup.

He never believed in anything holistic, but this soup, he agreed could cure what ailed him. As he felt the last of the steamy hot broth sooth the back of his throat, he could tell he felt better already.  
  


_______ sat next to him on the bed, rubbing his back as he ate and checking his temperature on his forehead every so often. 

When his soup... and seconds where gone, she cleaned up the bowl, and wrapped him back up in the blankets.

Ford poked a hand out of his cocoon timidly. ________ sat on the edge of the bed and took it gracefully in both of hers. They sat there in silence for a while.

Ford wondered if this is what it was to be loved. If this was being loved, was he worthy of it. Could he care for her, as she cared for him? In his fevered state, he vowed to be the kind of man that she deserved. His eyes grew heavy again. When he awoke in the morning, she was gone. The smell of a meal he will never forget; one that he craved on cold winter nights, when wounds and illnesses ravaged him; lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm HunkleJunk on tumblr if you ever want to say hi or get updates!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! Our most beloved Uncle Murdy is back! As you know, she has been dealing with a difficult family emergency and is such a trooper coming back to do editing... If you wanna leave her some comments of love and support.. I know she would love it... I would... because.. like.. I adore the shit outta that girl... and without her.. my writing isn't half as good!
> 
> Thank you guys for all your patience during the hiatus! Thank you for your support! LOVE YOU ALL!

Sleep had not come so easy for Stan. He tossed and turned. His strong, stubbled jaw ached where his own brother had punched him. The tearful reunion that he sacrificed 30 years for had not turned out anything like he had planned. He did sleep, though it was in short, fitful bursts, awoken by the painful realities of what had just transpired. By the time the first gleams of twilight began to filter through his window, he had given up. His rest was not restful, and he was painfully aware that more sleep was not coming. His hulking muscular frame sitting up in bed, raking a large hand up his face and through his thick silver hair. A single thought entering his already dejected mind.

"Goddammit."

Stan threw his burly legs over the side of the bed, and stretched his long back, shoulder blades almost touching, until he groaned in pain and then relief with a loud unpleasant "Pop." Shoulders slumped, he wearily opened the drawer to his nightstand, and there at the top was a picture. It was aged about 20 years... Stan with a mullet, in a red hoodie, grinning, and proudly showing off the day's catch, 2 meager fish, with his arm casually draped around the shoulder of a beautiful woman. She beamed a lopsided smile and had wavy mahogany hair that seemed to glow with her eyes in the sun.

With much effort, he hoisted himself out of bed. Every muscle protesting, from the adventures of the day prior. Fighting government agents, fFighting his brother. Hell.. for a while, he even fought gravity, he thought to himself. "I'm getting too old for this shit." he grunted. He made his way down the stairs as quietly as the creaky old shack would let him, and into the Mystery Shacks gift shop.

Settling in on the stool behind the counter, he pulled out the photograph, flipping it over to reveal a phone number. The writing was in felt tip marker with neat, bold, boxy lettering. Nervously, Stan flipped the picture over and over in his large, fidgeting hands while simultaneously gaining the courage to make the call. Finally, he reluctantly picked up the receiver and dialed the number on the back of the photograph.

Once Stan heard the first ring, he let out a long shaky breath, completely unaware that he had been holding it in his chest. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why did it have to be her? Another ring... He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. He could do this. This wasn't for his brother; it was for her. He promised himself. He was a lot of no good, terrible things, but at least he wasn’t a man who broke his promises. Another ring... His hands were tapping on the counter uneasily, a heavy weight in his gut. On the other hand, he tried... he  _ could _ just hang up now and that would be good enou...

Her sweet voice.

"Hey toots.. long time"

He smiled softly at the voice on the other end, flipping the photo over, tracing her smile with his thick fingers. Stan breath hitched slightly.

"Yeah.. well, as much as I miss you too.. It's not about me... 

Sixers here." He said, almost sighing into the phone.

There was a silence. Then the happy response on the other end seemed to cut his heart to its core. His eyes drooped sadly. He felt pitted.

"Listen Kitten.. he'll be here for a while. Take your time. It's just, erm.. I might not be.. but I'll try to keep in touch, ok?"

There was a panic of questions on the other end. Questions were never Stans strong suit..

"Listen, just come down here. I gotta get, I've got rubes to fleece, you know how it goes. I gotta go."

He gently hung up the receiver, as if hanging up on her wouldn't be as bad, if he could do so gently.

He stared at the picture once more longingly. How many times would she break his heart and never even realize it.

"Whys it gotta be him?" He asked her smiling visage. "Whys he gotta get everything I can't?"

He left the picture on the counter and stumbled into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

God, how he used to hate mornings. That was, until she came, he thought, as he put the grounds into the filter. She changed that. She looked like such an absolute wreck, but was somehow still so precious to him. The smell of coffee, and whatever she cooked for breakfast greeting him in the morning. He added the water, and began the cycle. Would he really be gone before she arrived? Stan lowered himself with a creak into the metal framed chair at the kitchen table. He stared out the window at dawns creeping light. Was it for the best? He knew this time should be used for contemplating his own next moves, Where to go when his home, and business are taken from him, but instead, at this very moment, he just wished he could see her again.

As the coffee dripped, and the smell wafted through the house, he let his hazy mind wander. His whole body tensed, then relaxed, realizing his fists were clenched, and knuckles white. He forced himself to let out a calming sigh.

"Don't do this to yourself Stan..." he told himself.

Despite his good advice, as he looked out the window into the beautiful morning, he couldn't help but think of another morning, that changed him forever.

\-------

KNOCK KNOCK!

It must have been 8 in the morning. Who the hell was knocking at his hour? Stan's round chestnut eyes were red and bleary, as he rubbed sleep from them angrily. Not bothering to put anything on over his usual boxers and wife beater and his brown mullet disheveled from a restless few hours of sleep, he groggily made his way out of bed. He stormed down the stairs. It was obviously some over-eager tourist who didn't know how to read the sign that clearly said they open at noon, and Stan Pines was about to give them a piece of his mind.

Stan, through the life he was forced to have lived, was the type of man that knew he was intimidating. So, when he stood straight, and puffed out his barrel chest, matched with his explosive temper, he knew the result would be terrifying. He threw the door open with his large ham fist. and opened his mouth to yell, when what he saw gave him pause.

She was tall and voluptuous, something that would make any woman a knockout in Stans book, but her face stopped him dead, large almond eyes, full pouting lips, and thick wavy reddish brown hair that shone in the mornings light. She wore a simple dark dress tight fitting, ruched horizontally to accentuate her curves. A single accessory, a clip that reminded him of a jeweled autumn leaf sparkled in her hair. She was stunning. She also looked thoroughly unphased with his intimidating entrance.

As she cocked her head and looked at him curiously, he wondered why she would be so calm. In the past, he had made a room full of men quake with a show like that. She acted as if he was a puppy

"I'm looking for Dr. Stanford Pines," she asked gently with a sweet smile looking up at him through her dark lashes.

He grinned at her, raking his thick meaty fingers through his disheveled hair, attempting to make a more presentable first appearance. "That's me toots, but the tours don't start till noon."

At this, there was a sudden and unexpected shift in her. A fire blazed in her eyes, her nostrils flared, and her hands balled into fists at her sides as she took a step towards him.

He had been hit by his fair share of ladies before, but usually he knew them... and if he was honest... he was usually asking for it. So this was something new.

She swiftly made it up the steps and closed in on him, Her ferociousness was surprising, but with its own allure all the same.

He had spent his life fighting. He knew how to move quick, dodge a punch, his speed had saved him more times than he could count. So the fact that before he could react a fist was already locked around the collar of his wife beater and the other aimed for his face was shocking. From the looks of it, Stan was sure it was going to be one helluva punch too, except at the last moment, it looked like a realization had overcome her. She looked into his eyes and gasped, dropping her hands immediately.

Her eyes saddened. Her hand shot up again, not for a blow, but to gently land on his cheek, examining his face gingerly.

"Stanley, is that you?" She asked softly and incredulously.

Stan's eyes went wide with a mixture of terror and rage. He almost threw her into the shack by the arm. Something that in retrospect, Stan wonders if he was able to do, or she allowed him to do. Nonetheless her legs gave way from under her, and it left her on the floor of the entry way, gazing up at him with large frightened eyes. "Look lady, I don't know who the hell you are, or WHAT you are," Stan half hissed, half shouted, "but you need to LEAVE!" The last word was shouted directly in her face.

If she was not affected by his performance at the door, this certainly had an effect.

Tears welled in her big eyes. Her arms folded over herself, and knees tucked up; she seemed in that moment, to make herself small. "Stanley," She pleaded. "Please. I'm not here to hurt you. I-I promise. Please just talk to me"

"I don't have to answer to the likes of you!" He roared at her, "Now get the hell off of my property!"

Tears fell. Her shoulders shook. ‘Goddammit’ Stan thought. Did he go too far? His life was already in turmoil. He can't be found out. He could get caught for faking his death. She could say he murdered his brother. She could get him arrested and then he will never get Ford back. Hell, she could not even be human for all he knows.. but.

He made her cry.

Somehow, at that moment, looking at her pitiful countenance, that seemed worse.

She was trouble either way, and he had to figure a way out.

He put a hand on her shoulder, and looked into her sad eyes. "I'm sorry, Kitten. Let's talk."

She nodded and wiped her tears away. He helped her up and over to the kitchen, into one of the chairs.

It was silent for a bit, Stan not knowing what to say, and his guest still collecting herself.

Finally, she broke the silence. "I- I'm ________. I-I... well, I went to school with your brother. I was hoping to find him." She said sadly, barely above a whisper. Her shoulders still slumped, the energy and exquisiteness, seemed drained from what had been standing on his porch this morning. "Stanley, why on earth are you using his name? Have you heard from him? Did you two ever make up?"

Stan sighed and started a pot of coffee. So that's what this was all about. This broad was gonna be trouble, but he could get out of it. He just had to think up something fast.

"Nah, we never made up. Can't remember the last time I've seen him. I've been using his name, just.. well.. , " It was a good start.. think Stan think... He looked at the books scattered about on the kitchen table, for college courses he had been taking to help him rebuild the portal, "I've been trying to better myself, and my names a bit uhh.. tainted"

God this would never work.. his back to her while he prepare the pot of coffee, he winced at what was going to come next.. now he would just be exposed for identity theft and that would lead to god knows what else. SHIT. Good going Stan, he scolded himself.

"I understand" was the quiet, unexpected reply. She got up and moved over to hold his hefty hand in her smaller ones.

He was shocked. It had been so long since he has experienced kindness like this. After everything that had just transpired, she was being so gentle with him. Understanding coming from a friend of his brothers alone, seemed unreal. He couldn't understand it, but it had been so long since he had anyone touch him softly, or tell him that they understood, even a fraction of his misdeeds. He needed it. He looked into her large wet eyes with wonder.

She stared back sadly, smiling weakly, "You know," she began, "You were the only thing your brother and I ever fought about. I never thought he should have treated you that way. You deserved better."

No one had ever said that he ever deserved better, not since the day he was thrown out of his home. Here was this beautiful stranger, holding his hand, telling him that she had stood up for him and that he didn't deserve it.

"Fuck" he whimpered as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He rubbed at them roughly with his fist and tried to turn away.

Tenderly, she stopped him, guided his face back to hers, and gently wiped the new tears away. When he was finished, she picked two mugs off of the shelf, and began to pour coffee, handing a cup to him and guiding him to a chair, then sitting in the one besides it.

"Why would you stick up for me, kid, You don't even know me?" Stan said despondently.

"Oh Stanley, Well.... " ________ got up slowly and turned with her back facing Stan. she unzipped her dress several inches, exposing the creamy delicate flesh of her back underneath, and several large protruding scars..

"My dad." she explained flatly. "He was a drunk and an asshole. That's a broken bottle. I've got a few others.. " She rezipped herself and sat back down.

Stan eyes widened in shock.

"When I was 17," She continued, "I finally had a car, and had secretly saved enough money for college. I ran. That's when I went to Backupsmore with your brother"

"Backupsmore? I thought he went to West Coast Tech?" interrupted Stan.

"No, It was Backupsmore." She confirmed. "I was living in my car too. I don't think Ford ever knew that. He thought you had ruined his life, but he never realized, he ruined yours too."

Stan couldn't look at her. Validation for this almost felt shameful. He just stared into his hands as tears renewed themselves down his cheeks. Ford ruined his life. It was something he had never even dared to think. He had wished his brother stood up for him, sure, but he always knew he deserved it. He deserved the long nights of loneliness, and fighting the cold in the backseat of his car. Knew his brother was in the right. He deserved not knowing where his next meal would come from. Not able to find employment without an address, so forced into shady business, that further flushed his life. Everyone knew he deserved it. No one had ever taken his side. Not his parents, his brother. Now with her.. who knew what it was like to live like he had... Maybe that's why she said she understood. Maybe that's why she didn't flinch.

They sat in silence for a bit. ________ reaching over, and drying the tears that streamed silently down Stan's face with her soft hands every so often.

Finally when he calmed again, she took his hands once more in hers. "Tell me Stanley,"

"Stan." he interrupted

"Tell me Stan," she began again "What are you trying to accomplish here, to better yourself?"

As much as Stan wanted to, in that instant, to tell her everything, he couldn't. He felt so at home with her in that moment. Safe and vulnerable, which were things he had rarely known in the entirety of his life. Stan said as much as he could. "I have a business now. It's successful enough, I guess. Pays the bills fine, but I can't afford any help yet, so it's a good 10-hour day 6 days a week, on top of my studies. I'm trying for degrees in Business, Engineering, and Mathematics , Some of the coursework is fine, but others get over my head." He let out a discouraged sigh, "Ford got all the brains out of the two of us, sometimes I wonder if college was a stupid idea. I don't think I'm smart enough for it." He groaned into his hands, peaking up at her between his fingers, expecting a mocking retort, she instead looked deep in thought.

"How about this Stan," she started. "Her voice so soothing, it was hard to believe this was the same woman who almost levied a punch at him, not a half hour prior, or that had been weeping on his floor, soon after. "I'm, just finished up some research, and don't know where I will head to next. If you want, and can afford food for two, I can stay here for a bit, I'll help with your business, until you can afford to hire some help, and see if I can't work with you on your studies as well. You gotta put me up. This place looks like it has plenty of room, and instead of paying me, I expect a well stocked kitchen, deal?" The last word punctuated by a large lopsided smile

"What's the catch?" His eyebrow raised, "I'm not a sucker you know... "

Her laugh tickled his ears and caught his heart on fire. He prayed to god she could convince him to let her stay. Stan wanted this woman in his life. He wanted to know her, but more than that he needed her to know him. No one had known him, not really. This seemed like the one person who could. Without judgment or blame. At this point, he had known her for perhaps an hour, and she was already like a drug to him.

"No catch Stan." She replied sweetly, "If I'm being honest, I always thought if I ran into you, I would want to take care of you."

Stans face blushed crimson. He could feel tears come again but successfully forced them back. Since when did I become such a sap, he thought. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, trying desperately to weigh the pros and cons of the precarious situation, but already knowing the outcome. He would say yes. Stan knew it from first glance. She was trouble, all right.

\-----

The beeping of the machine signified the end of the brew cycle. The bittersweet smell permeated the kitchen. This brought Stan back to himself. Realizing the sun was full in the sky, and the kitchen bright with summer rays. He smiled fondly on the fading memory of their first meeting. As he hoisted himself out of the chair to fix himself a cup. Who would have ever guessed how important she would have become to him? He decided then, he would stay at the shack as long as he could, if only to see her one last time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to be back! Super thanks to Uncle Murdy for all the help! Thanks to you guys for reading!!

Ford awoke, well rested. A term that seemed more alien to him, than most of the languages he had encountered over the years. It was invigorating. He was cautiously happy. There was much to be done, and he was just the man to do it. 

A bed for once, meant that his muscles and bones were more harmonious than usual. Although, as he lifted himself from bed, the soreness of the past 30 years, the stiffness in his joints, and creaking of his bones, remained. He stretched his sore thick muscles, feeling the tendons hot as they pulled, and popped his back and neck wearily. Ford hadn't grown to the size of his brother's lumbering frame, but he had certainly filled out with an athletic girth since college. He looked through his old room for clean clothes to wear. His current attire being torn, and dirty from his travels. Stitched, hastily in many places, and with an overpowering, unpleasant aroma that even he could not ignore.

He was looking forward to indoor plumbing.

He found a pair of tan slacks that would still fit and a once oversized, but now tight-fitting red turtleneck. Perfect to cover all of the scars and regrets from his travels, as he made his way to the bathroom.

In his years dimension hopping, showers weren’t non-existent, but they had been rare, and certainly a luxury when found. He turned the water on hot and stepped into the regrettably low-pressure spray. Ford raked his thick fingers through his gray and silver hair to encourage the water to penetrate its plentiful locks, the curls, and the knots therein. At first the water rinsed a dull grey. He would have been disgusted if he was not used to being in such a state. His eyes widened in delight at the name brand knock off selection of shampoo conditioner, and even harsh bar-soap awaiting his use. He lathered his hair, with probably far too much shampoo. He could not wait to wash the past decades out of his hair and his life. Next was the soap, it left his skin feeling rubbery, almost sterile. It had a scent that one would expect to be considered "masculine." In reality, it was a generic, indiscernible bar soap smell, and he didn't mind, as it far improved his previous odor. As he lathered himself up, thoroughly, taking his time to massage the scented wash over every bit of him. Starting at his stiff thick neck, then down his broad muscular chest. Watching as the bar created a foamy lather in his salt and pepper colored body hair, that cascaded down his keloid scars, in little streams down his firm stomach. As he moved onto the rest of his extremities, he thought about the events of the day prior and let out a deep sigh.

Stanley; why couldn't he ever seem to start over with his twin. Sure, he had plenty of reasons to be angry, but his brother brought him back home. That had to count for something didn't it? He had already lost so much over this feud with him. Perhaps now, he could try to be the bigger man. Make things right, even if he WAS the one who was justified, the one who was  _ constantly  _ suffering under his brother’s unwitting sabotage. His large hand had gripped the soap so hard, that he left fingernail prints in its water softened surface.

Calm... He reminded himself. You can do this.

He scrubbed his face harshly and vigorously as he held it to the stream of water, in hopes that the sensation would calm his resentments, settle his anxiety, and perhaps even strengthen his resolve.

It felt nice, but Ford's stomach was still in knots as he exited the shower. He worked to dry himself briskly with a towel, and quickly get dressed.

As he headed downstairs, he already felt like he had been punched in the gut when he saw his twin sitting in the kitchen with his coffee looking out the window.

What do I do? What do I say? How do you start a conversation with someone like him? At this point I don't even know him? Do I even want to know him? Would  _ he _ even want to know me? The last thought, surprising to Ford, proved to be the most painful.

Ford grasped his hands behind his back and stood up straight, as he was prone to do when nervous, and awaiting for rejection. A pose that was often confused for a harsh sternness or pretentiousness in others.

"Stanley," he said, as a form of greeting. Words seemed to escape him in his effort to begin a conversation.

Stan looked miserable and deep in thought. At the sound of his brother's voice, he tilted his head towards Ford. His frown turning to an involuntary grimace.

"Ford." His raw voice grumbled. Stan didn't know what to say or what Ford wanted. All he knew was that after this morning, he was not in the mood. 

The awkward silence stayed between the two for several minutes. Ford, not knowing what to say. Stan, refusing to say anything, until finally, Ford gave up. He began to busy by himself making a cup of coffee, then turning to head through the gift shop to make his way to the lab.

Miserable at his failed attempt, Ford's eyes darted around the gift shop. So, this is what his house of science had become? Each bobble, and t-shirt, more garish than the last. It made his blood boil, and he tried to remember what it looked like before Stan ruined it, like he ruined everything else in Ford's life. Signs for cheap taxidermy attractions that spit in the face of his very field of research, were everywhere. Tacky bobble heads, with the mocking face of his brother, lined the counter. His eyes rolled at their wall-eyed vacant stares, then he noticed something sitting on the counter next to them. There lay a photograph.

Ford's shocked grip became one of steel around the handle of his mug. His fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, as his nails dug deeply into his own palm, drawing tiny crescent moons of blood. He stormed over and picked it up.

There she was. ________ with Stanley's arm draped casually around her.

His body made the proper motions of a gasp, but no air left, having already been depleted. Ford felt as if he had gotten the wind knocked out of him at first sight of the photo. He was panicked and felt as if he was suffocating. He left his coffee on the counter and quickly made his way towards the lab.

In the elevator, he had to prop his tall thick frame up with the side wall to keep himself from collapsing. One arm snaked around his waist for support the other hand splayed over his gaping mouth while tears began to flow freely. Eyes wide in shock and abject horror.

He stole my home. He stole my name. He stole HER!!

The elevator let out a small "ding" to signify the floor had been reached safely. He flew through the room in a fury.. began gathering tools, picture still in hand. He wanted to rip it up so badly, but could not bear to erase even one trace of her beautiful smile.

HE STOLE HER! The thought screamed in his mind again and again...

He threw the tools haphazardly in the portal room, and finally, ever so gently, put the picture down...

As much as he hated it. Everything it symbolized... He couldn't hurt it... Couldn't hurt her. Not again.. not even a picture of her...

He got to work. Throwing himself onto the ground to begin to unscrew panels, pulling them free. His already short nails, getting ripped to the quick in his violent attempts. Throwing the scrap metal into the middle of the room. He reached in recklessly grabbing fistfuls of live cables in his bare hands, and ripping them free in a shower of sparks that illuminated the dim room, and left tiny burns on his new sweater and his exposed flesh. The clatter of metal. The hum of electricity and his own thoughts all deafening in his ears.

He let out a pained and guttural roar.

"SHE WAS MINE! " He screamed, choking on the very words

"HE NEVER DESERVED HER!" a louder, more savage call, echoing in the chamber and back to him as if in validation.

Tears would not stop now. Just rage... This went on for hours. He was a blur of madness. Days of work done in a small fraction of the time. The growing heap of metal and wires in the middle of the room becoming precarious in its height. A good portion of the portal was dismantled. Ford was left spent, laying on his side on the cool concrete, gasping for air. His hair slicked to him in sweat. Grease smeared his cheeks, and his hands were covered in small cuts and burns. He struggled to remove the turtleneck just to feel the soothing coolness of the hard floor on his skin. Every muscle wet and glistening with sweat. A red-hot inferno of pain from being taken to their limits. His temples throbbed. He was nauseous. All he could do is lay in the cold embrace of the floor.

Tears and sweat mixed and burned his eyes. He winced and squeezed them tight. Exhaustion finally, at least temporarily quelling the rage within him.

Now it was time for his grief to come to take center stage.

What did I expect? He thought wretchedly... Mind finally slowing to a manageable pace. She left me for him before she even met him.

\-----

________ and Ford were inseparable. What they were to each other, however, Ford could not figure out. After they had spent the night. She had held him. Ford had even held her as she cried, things were different. Not completely, but little things that warmed his heart and made him giddy. She hugged him now when she saw him. Nothing long and sensual, but quick and friendly. Still, he was able to be close to her, hold her, even momentarily. Occasionally too, when they would walk together, she would hold onto the crook of his arm, and sometimes even rest her head against his shoulder. Ford was never sure if this was romance on her part, or just a more comfortable friendship. He found himself staring at her lips more. Wanting to make that next move, but terrified of losing her in his life completely.

It got him thinking of Stanley. He was the one with all the knowhow with women. He wished his brother was there to guide him. He hated to admit that he missed Stanley, but Stanley had made his own choices. Choices that had hurt Ford so deeply... 

Ford didn't know if he could ever forgive him.

When springtime came, everything was in bloom. Ford never really took notice of the seasons, as he did now. Perhaps it was because each one seemed to compliment ________ in different and unique ways. Walking through the cherry plum trees in full bloom, delicate pink blossoms with fuchsia stamen, falling gracefully in the breeze, made her look like a dream.

He reached up with his long arm mischievously tugging at a branch over her head, the shaking, releasing dozens of tiny flowers to float down all around her, and sit delightfully in her reddish-brown waves.

Her giggles could be described as spring itself inside of Ford's soul. She looked up comically, as if trying to spy the flowers dotting her hair, then shook her mane playfully to release them. Her locks caught the light and crashed against the soft breeze. When settled, only a few of the flowers had fallen, the rest seeming to cling desperately to something more beautiful than themselves.

They made the walk to Ford’s dorm, her arms, locked onto the sleeve of his light tan trench coat. The smell of her jasmine and honey scent mixing effortlessly with the other flowers of the season. Ford wanted to stop. To take her then, embrace her. Kiss her. Tell her he loved her. The passion filled him until it was a dull ache inside his chest. His feet felt heavy as he instead moved on.

Once inside, coats discarded, sitting side by side on the bed. This level of comfort, a usual occurrence. Studying was going quickly and efficiently, as usual. Neither needing much help from the other, but enjoying the company nonetheless.

Ford's mind was on Stanley. Stanley would know what to do. Thinking of his family made him wonder what ________ home life was like. He imagined she had a large loving family. Lots of siblings. Probably brothers, who taught her how to take care of herself the way she did.

He beamed, thinking of her smiling in a house full of love, birthdays, holidays.

"Whatcha thinking about Ford?" ________ asked sweetly.

Ford's cheeks dusted pink, at realizing he had been smiling into space at his reverie.

"I was just wondering," He started, "What's your family like, ________?"

Her smile dropped at the subject. Her eyes dropped and looked away from him.

"Well, I guess the best way to put it," she paused and thought for a second. She took a deep breath, "the EASIEST way to put it, is that... I don't really have one?"

"Oh'" Ford was dumbstruck. It was far from what he had just pictured. He certainly had more questions. His brows furrowed in concern. He knew a lot about her on the surface. Her mannerisms, personality, likes and dislikes. How to make her smile and laugh. Perhaps he didn't know her as well as he thought though.

"What happened to them, if I can ask?" he questioned softly.

She finally met his eyes; it was a look he had yet to see in her. A vulnerability. A meek, almost worried look. "I don't know if there is a lot to tell. My mom left when I was young. Never wanted a kid, I guess. My dad, hmm... " she gave a glazed over look that showed that she was looking not outwards at the world, but inwards instead, at some painful, buried memory. "I don't know if he ever wanted a kid, or just resented me after she left... either way.... " She trailed off.

He opened his mouth to ask more, his curiosity always stronger than his ability to pick up on social cues. She spoke before he could though.

"What about you, what is your family like?" She asked sadly.

"I grew up in New Jersey... near the beach, my dad was never that into kids either. He named both my twin brother and I, Stan…” he shook his head.

“Stanford and Stanley. That's why I go by Ford, my brother went by Lee... it was the only way we could have our own names, even though our dad insisted on just calling us both 'Stan'", he chuckled mirthlessly, hoping that an admission about his own father might make things easier for her to talk about her family.

"You have a twin?" she gasped, a soft smile returning to her face. "You never told me! That must be amazing! I always wished I had even a sibling, and a twin, would be, like the ultimate sibling!'

It was Ford's turn to frown and look away. "When we were young, we were inseparable, but Stanley ruined all that. We haven't talked in years. He's the reason I'm going to this toilet of a school in the first place."

Fords hands balled into tight fists. Saying it out loud made him angrier. He hadn't talked about it since the night it happened. It had just been festering inside him as rage all this time, and now it was coming out.

"I was supposed to go to West Coast Tech. I was smart enough. I had a science fair project that was going to guarantee me a scholarship... and Stanley was so mad that it meant I wouldn't go on some... dumb... treasure hunting dream we had when we were LITTLE KIDS that he sabotaged it! He sabotaged my dreams! He ruined my life.. and now... now... I'm HERE! And, and... I HATE IT!" tears, not of sadness but pure repressed anger glassed over his eyes. He couldn't make eye contact with her. He wouldn't. Not when he was this mad.

"I'm sorry you hate it here." She said softly, after a moment of silent reflection. "I'm sorry that happened... but, I'm glad you are here." She rubbed circles into his back.

Ford didn't tell her, because he knew it would come out as angry, but it was the first time, he genuinely didn't want her touch. He didn't want her hand on him, or her soft words. He was too angry. He had held this in for too long.

"Last I heard the loser is just living out of his car, probably working up a criminal record." he spit out hatefully. The realization that he sounded like his own father, struck him painfully, but he was angry enough to ignore that whisper of conscience.

Her consoling hand faltered, paused, and then lifted from his back in quick succession.

"Why would he be living out of his car?" she asked, her once soothing voice now flat.

"Heh!" Ford sneered... he didn't care if he sounded heartless. "My old man kicked him out the day he ruined the science fair project... said he can't come back till he's a success. And trust me... THAT will never happen... he deserved it ________, he ruined my life."

________ voice was now cold. "You let your dad kick him out when you were in high school? You're okay with him living in his car? Your own brother? Ford!" His name was pronounced in a pleading gasp, " I understand being upset, and that this isn't where you planned to be, but your life is far from ruined.. it's just a college, but it sounds like you effectively ruined your brother's life. How could you treat your family like that? No one deserves that!"

Ford whipped his head around angrily. He couldn't believe that she would take the side of Stanley, whom she had never even met over him. He LOVED her. He saw her face, eyes turned into large saucers of, what was that? Pleading disappointment? It didn't matter to him. Stanley ruined his life, and now she was telling him he was a bad person because of it? This was too much.

His fists balled at his sides he yelled at her, " What would  _ you  _ know about it?? He deserved it! He ruined his own life! If he's so great, he will figure his own way out, but he's just a loser and I can't believe you would side with him. I thought you cared about ME?!?" he yelled at her.

Her eyes were wide. There were traces of fear there..

That alone stopped him. He was right, he knew it. About everything. Except in his anger he had scared her. The most fearless woman he knew.

She slowly lifted herself from the bed and gathered her things.

"I don't even know you." She said softly

Then, she walked out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Ford couldn't move from the concrete. The cool floor soothing his throbbing temples. His rage subsided. His thoughts washed over him, instead of ricocheting inside of him. Now drifting away and giving him a semblance or miserable peace.

He couldn't tell if he was just finally weakened too much emotionally or if this was a result of the physical overexertion from ripping panels off their seams and wires out with his bare hands. The burns and cuts on his extremities, proof, of his temper fueled rampage on the offending portal. At least this time, he was able to use his temper for good, he thought bitterly.

"I don't even know you" He heard her voice say. It was barely a whisper, but it carried, sharp as a blade and pierced him.

His heart hurt. He hated thinking of that day. He tucked it into the back of his mind. Never wanting to be reminded that he, not Danny Bartlett, or any of his goons, but he, Stanford Pines, was the one to scare ________.

It was as far away from the person he wanted to be as he could get. It only got worse after that. His stubbornness. His resentments. It finally drove her away for good... but he couldn't think of that now. Not now. Not ever.

He hoisted himself up, and cradled himself. Eyes red and glossed over, but no longer crying. He stared into space, wondering if she was right. Stan was in the wrong. He would not concede that point. Had his anger and resentment took it too far though. Had he thrown his brother away like he threw her away.

Now, to find that somehow, they found each other, he had the gall to be mad. He had to admit. His brother was a lot of things, but he had a good heart. Maybe Stanley treated her better than he ever did.

He wanted to know more, but knew he couldn't bring himself to ask Stanley. She obviously wasn't around anymore. Was she okay, what happened? Where was she? Had she ever forgiven Ford?

He sighed. He had to work with what he could. Stanley. Perhaps he had gone about things wrong. Perhaps he needed to try harder with his brother. It's what she would have wanted.

He raked his hand through his sweat soaked hair. His morning shower had been rendered pointless. He took a bit to calm himself further. Using deep breaths to regulate his heartbeat, while holding his hand to his chest. Finally, Ford slowly pulled his red, now soiled, and burned in places, turtleneck over his head again, and made his way up to the main house.

He headed straight to the bathroom to quickly rinse the renewed sweat and soil off his body and found a new, and nearly identical outfit. 

He took a deep breath to prepare himself for what he was about to do. Fighting, over the years, had come easy. This; this would prove a true challenge.

Ford left his bedroom and headed into the main house, looking for Stanley. He found him on the porch drinking a Pitt Cola. He approached timidly, sitting next to his brother. They sat, knees touching on the filthy couch, but still, it felt like they were dimensions apart.

He could do this... although, he hadn't the slightest idea how. The children; his great niece and nephew threw water balloons and played merrily on the lawn, as if nothing was wrong in the world. They were twins. It was obvious. It reminded him so much of Stanley and himself at that age, it made his heart ache.

"How old are they?" Ford asked softly.

"12, gonna be 13 soon." Stanley grunted in response, his raspy voice not showing any emotion.

There was a silence again. Ford didn't know what to say, how to talk to his own brother. He was about to leave when Stan spoke up once more.

"I was there when they were born," Stan said, his voice held a nostalgic tone. "Most beautiful babes you ever seen. I cried like a sap when I heard they were having twins. Shermy had to fight me to get me to hand them over."

What was said, showed a sentimental side of Stanley that Ford did not expect, but what was left unsaid was even more touching. Did Stanley still care for his twin brother after all these years? After everything that had happened. He must have, it finally clicked in Ford's brain, if he spent 30 years to restart the portal.

At that moment, Ford truly did want to thank him, wanted to apologize. Old resentments though, seemed to seize his tongue and render him mute. He could only look on at his brother thoughtfully.

"Welp," Stanley groans, as he got up with the creaks and pops of his age, "I guess if you are out here to keep an eye on the kids, I can go watch some TV."

He walked into the house, leaving Ford alone. Alone with the kids, that the very night prior he had forbidden any contact with.

This, at least, was some progress.

He watched them play as the sunlight danced through the pines.

He wished for the days when he and Stanley were young, and innocent, and happy.

He felt a dark foreboding cloud overhead. He knew Bill was coming, and that he alone, was the one to save them all.

There was still work to be done. Life in his home dimension went on, and it had apparently continued on without him. That was okay, because this next mission may cost him his life. Although, if he could save this world. Save the kids, save Stanley, save her. 

Maybe it would all be worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to UncleMurdy as always and HEY! I'm SO EXCITED! I'm starting to release a StanxReader fic starting THIS WEDNESDAY called Connected in the Darkness.. I've been sitting on it for a few months and I super love it, I hope you guys will check it out!

Weirdmageddon was over at last. Bill was vanquished. Ford was not the hero he thought he was destined to be. Ford only created the end of the world. When it was time to fix it, it was his brother, Stanley. Who erased his very mind, to save him, the kids, the town, everything.

He knew it now, and like he knew everything, he figured it out too late. He was wrong. His brother never deserved what he got. His brother who always stood up for him and had his back through thick and thin. Who sacrificed 30 years to get him back. Who sacrificed everything in the end. His brother was always the hero. His hero.

Ford was a failure. He abandoned his brother when his father threw him out. He resented his brother. He blamed Stanley for everything. He took advantage of his brother to get rid of the journal. Then, he erased his brother's mind.

He was a worthless brother, but promised to devote the rest of his life to make it up to him. Mabel; the only one to have faith in Stanley, was able to bring him back. To jog his memory. With pictures from her scrapbook. His memories came.. Some flooding in waves, some singular, here and there... At night, Stanley would wake up crying or screaming to the more jarring of his memories. Ford couldn't imagine what sort of a life he had subjected his brother to.

Ford felt helpless. He had no photos. No memories of the last 30 years to add. Nothing to help him along his way. Then he remembered.

He ran into the lab. The jealous part of him, wanting of course to keep her all for himself, but knowing that Stanley deserves a good memory. Her sweetness. Her soothing voice. Her smell. If he could give that back to him, maybe he could forgive himself for a fraction of the misdeeds he had caused his brother.

Ford found their photograph. Stanley and ________ smiling together in summer's brilliant light. This had to help, it was all he had to give, and he would give her, willingly to him. The more worthy of the two.

He snuck upstairs to Stanley's bedroom. Another fitful night of poor dreams. Memories being relived. A life of misfortune that had Fords name as the author. He snuck in quietly. Not sure he had the courage to give the photo directly to Stan, or even to explain who it was... He laid it quietly on the bedside table and hastily made his exit.

When Stan awoke, he was gasping for air, scratching at the sides of his throat. Still believing he was trapped in the trunk of a car. The darkness of his room slowly piercing the memory... his lungs filling with air.. reality coming into focus. He was happy he was remembering... He didn't want to be an amnesiac. But the holes in his memory just kept filling with nightmares, and he wondered if he had ever been happy.

He turned on the lamp on the bedside table to illuminate his room and assure him of his location, when something new caught his eye, a photograph. As shit as his long-term memory was, he was sure this hadn't been there when he fell asleep. It was him, and it was a dame.... no... Kitten. That's what he called her. she was smiling. A goofy lopsided grin that made him want to kiss her all over her face. Her hair shone in the summer sun, and there was a barrette that looked like a bejeweled autumn leaf, the colored dancing in her hair. He looked so happy. He remembered that kind of happiness. 

He was in love.

\-----

"OK, well, I get all the fish on this side, and I'm gonna get so much more than you!" She boasted playfully, once her line sunk in, rather pathetically close to the boat, she made a lunge towards Stan's side of the water, swiping the water up at him mischievously. This resulted in more wrestling and roughhousing than fishing, and in the end, Stan won... with two fish, and ________ with none. She beamed nonetheless. Insisted that they take their picture together to honor, "The only day Stan Pines will ever beat _________"

They went fishing every Monday of fishing season, and she had yet to catch a fish. But she knew how much Stan liked to compete, so she talked a big game. He loved the way she teased him. At home, they got into comfortable clothes and she started dinner, while he picked a movie. It was the usual Monday night routine.

Her clothes were not scandalous in the least bit, but she had become so comfortable around him, she often wore short shorts and crop tops for pajamas and workout clothes in the summer. On anyone else, it wouldn't have been unusual, but with her, he could tell he had earned trust. The way he could see scars peak from her back, the ones she had bravely shown him upon her arrival. Cigarette burns littered her legs, although she didn't seem to smoke. and a long graceful slice had been cut into her left calf, and another across her bust line. It was all well hidden with her normal attire, but at home, with him, she was comfortable. He could see it all. He didn't pity her, because she didn't seem to pity herself. She seemed at home in her body, it was attractive. Still, he wondered what she must have gone through, but knew better than to have asked. Their shared life was happy and harmonious and he didn't want anything to disrupt it.

Since she moved in, his business had picked up. Her ideas for running the shack more efficiently and even marketing him as Mr. Mystery, an attraction in itself, proved quite fruitful. She had a way with the clients, her silver tongue matching his own, the only exception being that hers could speak multiple languages, and was willing to translate the tours to the overseas tour busses that came through... for an added fee of course.

She was brilliant. It reminded him of Ford. She helped him tirelessly with his studies. He was intimidated at first, but her patience and lack of pretension made her a great teacher. Their shared humor and playful banter made him even look forward to the tutoring sessions. Subjects he had no grasp on before, became clear, and he breezed through his classes with ease.

He made sure to set her room up in the attic so that at night he would be able to slip into the basement undetected to work on the portal. Thanks to ________tutelage Fords notes looked less like a foreign language and began to make sense. He made progress, real progress, for the first time. Deciphering what needed to be done, and beginning real earnest work to bring his brother home.

Each new success filled him with joy, but also, a deep pit of sadness, because it meant she would be one step closer to moving on.

Once dinner was finished; the days catch, seared in a lemon caper sauce with vegetables. The pair sat down on the couch with their plates balanced haphazardly in their laps to watch whatever black and white tear-jerking romance Gravity Falls TV had to offer. Their own small selection of movies, Stan decided, had been watched and re-watched too many times.

When their meals were done, ________ brought the plates into the kitchen, and when she returned, she gently lay against Stanley's side. His heart beat fast as her perfumed scent filled his strong nose. He gently laid a hand over her arm and brought her closer. She was soft, and felt so delicate next to him. He looked down at her lovely contented face as her large eyes wide, concentrated on the movie in front of them.

Some sensations are strange. Occasionally, the cold biting your fingers will feel like a burn. Falling in love, also has the same pain, the same exquisite heart wrenching feeling, as grief does.

Which is why, Stan sat on the couch, next to a woman, who had been nothing less than a guardian angel to him, and his heart felt pierced through its center. It physically hurt him how happy she made him. How much he had come to care for her. Did she know? What would ________ think of him when she discovered the truth. Would she be as understanding as she had been about everything else? When she discovered the lies he had told her? Would she ever forgive him? What if he was able to save his brother? It was obvious she cared for Ford. Did she want to be with Ford? The subject was too painful to ask, but as time went on the answer was becoming clearer, even as much as Stan was trying to stay in denial.

His large hand tightened his grip on her, as if that could make her stay. If all he had was this, right now. He would take it. It had been a life of little joy. Right now, he was cared for. He was in love, and he was happy. Even if she didn't feel the same. Even if she would be leaving soon. He had right now, and he vowed not to waste it.

\------

Stan smiled. ________ came rushing back to him. Those days at the shack. The mornings drinking coffee, her hair a mess. Dancing in the living room. The pointless fishing trips. Studying, and working. The talks over whiskey. Her unmoving belief in him. Her eyes, her hair, her smell.

They shared a punching bag in the back shed, and he would watch her sometimes, her body slick with sweat, her clothes stuck to her with the wetness. Never noticing him, or anything really. The saddened desperation of someone punching away a memory. She would go at it until her body gave up. Her fists, red and swollen. ________ slumped into the bag, before wearily making her way back into the house, to sneak into the shower, like she was hiding a secret.

The nights watching movies, curled up together, feeling her warmth. Walking through the forest. Her soft touch. Her infectious goofy smile. Being in love.

He remembered his recent call to her. She said she had to wrap up her research. It may take a while to get to him. Where was she? Was she okay? Would he see her again? 

She loved Ford. That had been the painful conclusion of their time together. Although it was obvious that she loved him too, in a different way, Stan would never fill that void. The emptiness his brother had left. So, he made a promise, another sacrifice. When his brother came back. He vowed he would reunite them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Uncle Murdy as always! LOVE THAT GAL! I just started a new StanVreader called Connected in the Darkness, Please check it out and give it a read if you haven't yet, it will update every wednesday!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670483/chapters/72953748

It was a warm summer day. It would have been lonely with the kids having just left, but with planning in full swing for their voyage, Stan and Ford managed to keep busy. Stan by nature, had been a penny pincher throughout his life. In the back of his mind, thinking he was saving to buy his way back to family and love. Now with his brother by his side, he didn't mind using the money he hid in the wall safes, paired with money Ford was able to scrounge by selling the scrap metal of the portal, to use for their expedition. Ford worked to chart their path, as Stan worked to budget their trip, write lists of supplies, and search for what was to become the Stan O' War III.

The morning was especially calm, as they discussed the days tasks, and progress. Each with coffee in hand. Breakfast had not been made. Without kids around, and with Fords bad habits of not eating, Stan had gotten out of the habit of cooking in the morning.

Their talks were interrupted by a car pulling into the shack. Not at the entrance of the Mystery Shack, but the home itself. Both brothers looked out the window curiously. Unannounced visitors, especially in the morning, were unheard of. The car also was not one that either immediately recognized. A beat up, 1975 Datsun 280z. Painted the color of rust, which was lucky, because where the paint peeled, real rust filled its place.

Stan stared at the car for a beat in almost a trance before his flat expression turned to one of giddy excitement. Spilling half his cup of coffee as he leapt from the table, the only word he could manage to get out was...

"Kitten!"

He ran outside, leaving Ford behind and bewildered, as he carefully lifted himself off his chair to meet this new mystery guest.

Stan, clad in the usual boxers and wife beater, without a care as to the appropriateness of his attire was already at the cars door as it slowly opened.

Ford couldn't see the contents of the vehicle yet, but the sound of her tinkling laughter hit his ears and it was everything he had to keep hold of his mug. It was HER. After all these decades... It was her.

Stan practically pulled her from the car. Her arms draped around his neck and face buried in his shoulder as she squealed in delight. He spun her around in the air. Her knee-high boots, matching her car's exterior swung in the air, as did her pleated knee length plaid skirt. hatched in purples and hints of burgundies and magenta. Her hair still in shining mahogany waves, now lightly accented with silver, seemed to float on the breeze.

When she was placed gently back down on the ground Ford could at last see her clearly. She wore a white puff sleeved blouse with a large black bow over the chest. Her smile was the same goofy radiance that it had always been. Her eyes wide and bright, capturing the light, beaming with joy.

"Oh Stan! It's been so long!" She gushed as she went in for a welcomed second embrace. Stan wrapped his girthy arms around her, pulling her close. His eyes shut in pure bliss. A grin taking over his features.

Ford's heart began to sink in his chest. Of course, she had come for Stan. He must have contacted her after retrieving his memories. Jealousy rose, bitter and white hot, but he fought it down with the weight of his own guilt. His brother deserved this. He couldn't stand in the way.

Once she slowly pulled away from Stan, ________ noticed Ford leaning on the screen door. He was pale. His mind had been screaming at him to make a retreat before he was noticed, but it was too late.

"Ford!" She said warmly, and started to make her way up to him. Her cheeks flushed rosy and eyes sparkling. He could already smell her perfume and it was too much. He wanted to embrace her the same way that Stan had. To feel her in his arms once more. He had been dreaming of it for over 30 years now. She wasn't his anymore though. Had she ever been? He thickly swallowed, and straightened his back. The urge to clasp his hands behind himself in nervousness was there, but hindered by his coffee cup, he was forced to simply hold his mug in front of him with both hands.

"________" He said, trying not to display any of the passion he felt in his voice. "It's good to see you again, now if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid there is much work to be done today."

At that he quickly made his exit. Discarding his mug in the sink, and rushing to the safety of his basement lab.

He felt shame boiling inside him as the elevator descended. His face grew red at the embarrassment. He knew that could have been handled better. Small talk should have been exchanged. Pleasantries? He didn't know. He wasn't good at doing those things in the most comfortable situations. In this situation all he could think of was, "run." As the elevator dinged its arrival, he realized that his face had been buried in his wide hands.

He brought himself to his work station. Maps and charts strewn everywhere. He may have said he was going to work, but he doubted much would be done today. Ford’s mind was overrun with thoughts of her. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to beg her forgiveness. He was wrong. He knew it now. So wrong. He needed to tell her how he felt. To hold her, to kiss her. Ford guessed it was that last part, which was why he acted the way he did this morning. He couldn't let his own greedy emotions get the better of him. Ruin the chance at happiness that Stanley had. Ford had already ruined his own chances with her. As much as he hated that day, he thought back on it now. He forced himself to think about it, hoping that it would remind him of his unworthiness. Help him stay in his place and give Stanley the chance for love. If Stanley lost it once before. It surely had been Fords fault, he thought, as guilt consumed him.

\-----

It had been a week since the argument about Stanley. They no longer met each other out front of class, but sat at different sides of the classroom. Every once in a while, Ford would catch her, looking forlornly at him, but his resentments, still fresh, he would simply make a show of looking the other way.

He knew she wanted to talk, although she wouldn't come to him directly. As far as Ford was concerned, he could wait until she did come to him, with an apology. She had no right to take Stanley's side. To claim she didn't know him, as if he was some sort of monster. His face grew hot at the thought. His hurt from the experience turning to rage inside him.

If he was honest with himself, and his feelings, which he was absolutely not at this point. He would be forced to admit that he was lonely without her. He missed her. It hurt him to see how sad she was. He wanted to apologize and hold her, and make things right. This however, was a level of emotional enlightenment that Ford had not reached. So instead, he stewed in his stubbornness and resentments, trying his best to make himself a martyr. Hoping in secret that this would all blow over, and he could feel her arms in the crook of his, and her head on his shoulder again soon.

This day's lecture in particular, was regrettably all information Ford already knew. It was easier to not focus on her, if he could keep his mind occupied elsewhere. This class was not helping in the least. The class was interrupted about 20 minutes in however with one of the office staff coming down the hallway, making soft apologies for the intrusion. Ford at least found this to be a good distraction, until of course, the secretary made a direct bee-line to ________ seat.

Her voice, not quite a whisper, so the class could pick up snippets of this conversation.

"The office...

talk with you...

Message...

Bursars..."

________ face had been consistently drooped into misery the past week. The muscles now, tightened it into flatness. No emotion shown. Her eyes became dull and lifeless. Ford could not help but openly stare. Even her skin whitened and lost its luster.

"Yes, of course." was a weak reply ________ gave to the secretary as she gathered her things and quickly made her way from class. For once she did not even look at Ford, or seem to notice Ford looking at her, with concern. A concern that he would still not admit to himself he had.

The next class she was absent from. Her absence was felt by Ford as he replayed the events. He wondered what happened, but luckily, there was a lab and a pop quiz to help occupy his mind.

Towards the end of the day, he finally got out of his last class, feeling slightly worse than usual, when he noticed ________ waiting for him outside of class. She was nervously pushing the strap on her army bag over her shoulder, and looking at her feet as her toe seemed to try to dig into the tiled flooring. She snapped to, with a start once she noticed him, and marched towards him.

"Ford," she started urgently, "I need to talk to you." Her eyes were desperate and pleading.

Ford was relieved. This would finally be all over.

He allowed her to lead him to a more private area. She was full of jitters. Her hand kept reaching back and rubbing the back of her neck. Her eyes darted everywhere. This was obviously hard on her. He did love her. He could help her.

"It's ok, I accept your apology." He said, expecting to feel her warm arms around him, a chorus of thank you's whispered breathlessly in his ears.

Her darting eyes focused on him finally, her hands dropped. "That... This... is  _ that  _ what you think this is about, Ford??" She cried.

She started to say more, but Ford cut her off.

"If you aren't here to apologize then what the hell do we have to talk about then?" Ford practically spat at her.

She looked lost. Her mouth opened as if to say something... but nothing would come out.

Ford, satisfied that he had made his position known, turned to walk away, when a strong hand firmly grabbed him by the shoulder to spin him back around, and held him firmly in place.

"Goddammit Ford!" She yelled. It was a choked and desperate yell. The next minute, her lips were on his. Their fullness trembling against his own. Her tears, now sliding down his cheeks. He could feel that her entire body was shaking violently now. This kiss was quick. When she pulled away, she looked into his shocked eyes.

"I love you." she said. It came out a strangled pained whisper.

Before he could even process what had happened, he saw her running full speed away.

It was the last time she came to school. The last time he saw her.

It was all his fault.

\-----

How could he stake any claim on her after that? He didn't just drive her away from him. He drove her from the school entirely. She loved him. She said it. She said it so painfully. Because he had made it painful to love him. Were there enough apologies in the world to make up for that? The most he could do is stay out of the way. After all these years. After all he had done. She couldn't possibly want to see him. Only Stanley. As much as it tore him apart inside, he would do his best to make her happy, even if that meant leaving her be.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mentions of childhood abuse!
> 
> Thanks as always to Uncle Murdy and thanks you guys for reading, kudos and comments! It means a lot!

As Ford quickly made his escape into the house, ________ and Stan quickly exchanged confused glances. The smile falling from ________ face.

"You didn't tell him I was coming, did you Stan?" She asked wearily.

"Well. I mean, I may have forgotten to mention it," Stan started sheepishly; his husky voice made ever gruffer with the nerves of possibly putting her in a bad situation. "You know how Ford is, we were just talking about all the work we had to get done today... I'm sure he's just overwhelmed. How about I get you some coffee then settled in?" He ended with the most charming smile he could muster, one that was always able to win her over before.

She smiled softly and let him lead her into the kitchen.

Once seated, Stan busied himself with making another cup of coffee for himself, and one for her, remembering exactly how she liked it.

He handed it to her and sat down, taking her in. The slight bit of silver in her hair only seemed to accentuate the auburn tones in the rest of it... Her face had not aged nearly as much as his. She was still gorgeous and soft. Age had only worked to subtly define her already beautiful features. Sitting at the chair though, her shoulders slumped, and she ran a hand through her hair and let out a sigh. She looked exhausted.

"Are you okay, Kitten?" Stan asked with concern.

"Yeah." She smiled weakly. "It's been a long couple of days. I tried to tell you on the phone, but my research was in Japan when you had called me. That is why it took me so long to get here. Not only did I need to wrap it up, I needed to find a way to get enough Yen to get a flight back to the states and get my car out of storage... not like they took good care of it. Did you see the rust?" She groaned in disgust, "Between flying and driving, I haven't slept much for the past few days. Also, you know, I guess I thought Ford would maybe be at least, a little more amenable to the thought of seeing me."

She took a long drink from her coffee and smiled. "Thank you though. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too ________." Stan said. His raspy voice holding a dreamy passion. "I'm gonna be honest with you though, Kitten. You look like hell." He chuckled deeply.

Her body jerked up but she giggled at his teasing. She always did have a thick skin.

"As much as I want to spend some time with you, let's get you settled, and let you get some rest. My brother will come around, and things will be better when you wake up. You'll see?" Stan said gently, his hand resting over hers.

"Thank you, Stan. You always took such good care of me." She looked kindly into his eyes and smiled her sweet warm smile.

He took her bag. The same oversized army bag she had always carried, and showed her up to the attic. "It's a little more cramped here than it used to be. My grand niece and nephew just spent the summer here, but I thought you would like your old room back." He said timidly.

"It's perfect! Thank you, Stan!' She cried. Once inside the attic, her arms were around his neck in another embrace. Her sweet smell filled him. He felt the delicate curve of her back through her silky blouse. Could feel her warmth against his chest. Stan still loved her. That much he knew, but he knew she was here for Ford. That he needed to let them come together, reunite them, like he promised. He still owed his brother so much. He owed her so much. It was the least he could do.

"Get some rest, Kitten." he said softly as he pulled away gently and began to make his way back down the stairs.

Alone now in the attic, she sat on the bed and began to unzip her boots, pulling them off unceremoniously. She peeled off her socks, and then stood up to unzip her pleated skirt. She let it fall to the floor in a pile with the rest of it. Her blouse soon followed. Normally, she would be more of a tidy person. She was exhausted though; both physically and emotionally. Conflicted and confused. The fucks she had left to give lay at her feet with her quickly wrinkling clothes.

She didn't even bother changing into a nightgown. She lay on top of the thick comforter in the warm summer heat in her white bra and cotton panties, knowing that sleep would come eventually. First though, she had to deal with her mind, which was an angry beehive of emotion, memories, and torment.

She looked up at the molding and aged ceiling and sighed deeply. She missed the shack. This room. She missed Stan so much. He had become her best friend over the years. He had been the sibling she always wanted. He was so caring and protective. They played and roughhoused together. They could talk openly and be themselves. She loved him dearly. She was glad that her spot didn't seem to be taken, now that his actual sibling had finally come around.

Ford. She let out another long sigh. Was he still mad after all these years? She knew he was able to hold a grudge. Did he not even want her apology? She had searched the globe to find him. Maybe she just never meant as much to him as he had to her. That hurt her, yes, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Looking back on things, she had always instigated things with him. She said I love you. He never said it back. Perhaps he just put up with her, too kind to send her away. Perhaps that is what was happening again. Even worse, what if he had just pitied her all this time.

She groaned miserably, not wanting to think of it, rubbing the back of her hand over her bleary, sleepless eyes. She hated these thoughts. She just needed to know. They were adults now. They could have a conversation, right? Except he didn't seem to want to even be in the same room as her.

She tossed fitfully on her side, curling in on herself. Was this a mistake? Is she an unwanted guest? Stan welcomed her. Which meant she was sure to brew discord between the two brothers if she stayed. She wanted to leave. To say she tried and give up.

She knew, ultimately, she would stay. It wasn't the tenacity of spirit that she was known for, that would keep her going though. On this subject, when finally faced with her goal, she found herself a coward. It was Stan, and the Shack that made her unable to leave. It was the closest thing to a home she had ever had. Being here again, made her feel safe. Made her feel, in all those ways she supposed normal people felt when they came home. She wasn't ready to give that up. Not yet.

Home. She had never known it before she came here. 

Life with her dad had been nothing like this. Home would never be a word to describe it. A two-bedroom dilapidated house on the bad side of town. The chaos on the streets, always preferable to the chaos inside. The noise, inescapable. Screaming insults, and barking orders, even conversations, usually drunken on his part, so at a volume only the inebriated would deem acceptable. 

The everyday violence, leaving handprints where she was grabbed and pulled into this room or that to show that there was something not done to his standards, or further on the arms, where she was thrown into walls or onto the floor. That was nothing compared to the especially vicious nights. She shuddered to think about it. A slender hand traced up her leg feeling the many scars that protruded there. If there were happy times, she couldn't remember them. Just the suffocating feeling of never being enough. Of being at fault for something, and never figuring out how to fix it.

The day she ran had been the culmination of a year's planning. The car, the college savings. everything worked out meticulously. She didn't expect a good life, she knew she didn't deserve one, but she knew she couldn't handle the one she had. As much as her father loathed her, he was sadistic, and needed her, for the cooking and cleaning and errands, as he was too much of a drunkard to take care of himself. She knew he would never let her leave. He would try to stop her, try to find her. So, she had to be smart. She would rather die than step over the threshold of that shithole ever again. To be this man's punching bag one more time.

The first night was exhilarating. Freedom didn't feel like what people described as "home," she didn't think she would ever know that feeling, but it felt free. She made her way towards Backupsmore to apply for college. It was cheap, and too shitty to show up on anyone's radar. It also had all the courses she wanted to take. She may even be able to afford a space in a dormitory.

Freedom was beautiful. She smiled, for the first time. She smiled all the time. When she found she couldn't afford a dormitory and would have to stay in her car, she smiled. When she found she couldn't get a job to raise money for a place to live without an address, she smiled. 

She was free, and out in the world, and nothing would get her down. She knew she didn't deserve better, so she would be happy for what she had.

She wasn't used to people, and didn't know how to make friends. Always having to keep to herself, keep secrets, stay home; it was a way of life when she was with her father. She tried on several occasions to make friends at Backupsmore, but they would be people who were either after her body or after her for academic work. Neither she viewed as friendship.

Then ________ met Ford. The same bullies who had treated her so poorly, it looked like were going to pummel him. She saw her father's drooped slurring face on each of them. Looking for their next punching bag. Her very soul went ablaze, and before she knew it, she was in between them. She helped him.

He was sweet and gentle. He was kind and soft. The way she had never known a man to be in her life. He was smart, and they had so much in common. He never judged her. Instead of "just being good enough" he seemed in awe of her. Something she had never experienced before.

Ford was everything she had always wanted in her life. It helped that he was handsome too. His round chestnut eyes, and curly floof of hair, always in the most beautiful disarray around his face. His jaw was strong with a handsome cleft chin. He had a thick neck and broad shoulders. He wasn't muscular, but not scrawny either. He dressed neatly, and cleanly. He smelled of cologne that reminded her of the sweet smells of the forest after it rains.

She did everything she could to be near him. To be closer to him. She began to think that he felt the same way. Her heart was full as each day became better than the last.

Then,the day she discovered that he abandoned his own brother, was heartbreaking, but more so, the way he talked so hatefully about his brother living in his car. The words had pierced her and left her feeling emptied to her very core. It was the secret she had kept from him. She didn't want his pity. To find now that it was not pity she would get, but loathing and contempt? Ford said his brother deserved it. Did Ford think she deserved it too? It was too much, she had to leave.

She wanted to talk to him afterwards. Wanted things to go back to the way things were, but didn't know how. How do you address such a situation? Should she tell him the truth? She couldn't stand to see him look down on her. Not Ford. The way he treated her the days after was not much better, but she told herself she could take it.

Then came the day when the secretary came to her in class. Life was already falling apart quickly and was about to get worse. Her check had bounced, and there was a message waiting for her at the office, "from family."

She felt numb. She had 2 more years of funds for classes in the bank. He must have found the account and emptied it. How far away was he? How much time did she have to run?

She verified that her account had been emptied. Her classes had been canceled, and her father was indeed "On his way" as the message said, and it gave the office instructions to hold her, something the office, luckily, had no intention of doing.

She only had one loose end. One thing she could not leave Backupsmore without doing. She had to say goodbye to Ford. She had to explain. She had to tell him how she felt, and she had to do it quickly.

She tried. Panic had overtaken her. The halls busy between classes, her eyes darted back and forth looking for the spry lumbering man who would snatch her back into hell itself. She had to do this. She got Ford in a spot she deemed well hidden, and began to explain, but to her surprise, in this moment of rising emergency, Ford wanted to argue. She tried to protest, to begin her explanation again, but he wouldn't let her, he began to walk away. 

It was her only chance. She may not have been able to say much, but at least she could do this; she kissed him. It was her first kiss. She trembled from both fear and nerves. Her body started to shake knowing that her time had come to an end. She looked into the crowd; this was it. "I love you" she didn't even say goodbye. She will never forgive herself for that. She just ran.

She had hoped for a college education, but got a street education instead. Instead of grant money, she swindled suckers in poker and pool and did odd jobs, like handyman work when she went from town to town, to finance her research . Still, she got to do what she always wanted. Study cryptids and anomalies. Although without a single degree behind her not only did she have to be self-funded but she knew that none of her work would make a difference, since she was not a legitimate source. It did however give her the opportunity to stay nomadic which kept her safe from the ever-present fear of her father finding her. Although once she had turned 18, he was no longer able to stake a legal claim on her. She remained in fear from a lifetime of abuse.

Her only regret ever, being the look on Ford’s face as she ran away. The fact that she never said goodbye. Never saw him again. It gnawed away at her on long lonely nights. She missed him. She had never felt close to anyone the way she did him. One day she decided she would find him. He was an anomaly of a man, and tracking down anomalies was her area of expertise after all. That lead her to the Murder Hut (later renamed the Mystery Shack) She would never have guessed that she would finally gain a home and a family in those walls. A place where she always felt safe, and validated. She was good enough. She was wanted. She was needed. She was happy. She loved, and she  **_was_ ** loved.

She couldn't give that up so easily. Especially with Stan here. Even if Ford didn't want her here, she could still try. Maybe he would calm down and talk to her. Maybe things could finally work out for the best. Maybe this could be her home again.

It was with that last thought, that a warmth spread through her, and calmness and sleep overtook her at last.


End file.
